The Scott&Bailey Birthdays
by HedgieX
Summary: Something a little bit different for 2014. For each fangirl's birthday there'll be a chapter featuring one of the Scott&Bailey characters celebrating their birthday, from paintballing to visiting graves. I'm hoping it will be a jumble of fluff and angst, with plenty of jelly-based party teas thrown in for good measure.
1. Introduction

INTRODUCTION

Rather than trying to buy cards for everyone and missing birthdays in the middle of my exams and so on, I thought I'd try something new this year. I'm going to post a chapter for each fangirl's birthday (or around the time of their birthday, depending what I'm doing) featuring one of the_ Scott&Bailey _character's birthday celebrations.

I've already started doing a bit of planning whilst I've got some spare time – although I don't think the first birthday is until February, so it's going to be a while before the first chapter – and so far I've got a cheese and wine evening, paintballing and sitting by someone's bedside in intensive care lined up for some of the characters. I think it's all going to be a bit chaotic.

It's just a bit of fun to say happy birthday, and thank you for being such lovely fellow fans. I think I've got most people's birthdays but if there's anyone else who likes _Scott&Bailey_ who would like me to write them a chapter just let me know.


	2. Rachel, for DCI Gill Murray 01

**And so we kick off the birthdays earlier than expected. I thought we'd start with a bit of Rachel, seeing as she was the reason for "Happy birthday, kid" in the first place. The chapters won't be connected and the storylines might not be consistent with what's happened in the real programme. My motto for FanFiction: it's always okay to use poetic licence when the characters are drunk.**

**For **_**DCI Gill Murray 01**_

Of course they'd come to the pub for Rachel's birthday. Where else would they go?

Kevin had hinted at wanting to go bowling (he'd gone off the idea quickly when Rachel had asked him if he still needed the bumpers up) and Janet had said she'd host a party at her house, but none of the suggestions had sounded as good as the pub to Rachel.

"Are you sure you don't want to come to mine for a birthday tea, Rach?" Janet had asked, when the team were sitting around in the office debating whether or not Rachel could pass for twenty-five, "We could have jelly again."

Rachel softened momentarily. It was one of her weaknesses; the promise of jelly nearly always persuaded her to do something. "Strawberry?"

"Of course. It'll be just like last year."

That was what had put her off. She didn't want to do things that were 'just like last year', because she knew they wouldn't be like last year at all. Last year Dominic had been living in her flat and this year he was in prison. At the time, she'd thought she hated the havoc he wreaked – crashing her car, setting fire to her kitchen – but when she sat opposite him now in the visiting hall she knew she hadn't. Those things could be repaired, replaced, but Dom couldn't. She hated what being locked up again was doing to him; he looked so fragile in the faded red bib they had to wear to distinguish themselves from visitors, his voice breaking when he spoke to her.

"What, the burnt pizzas and soggy breadsticks?" She didn't mean to hurt Janet but she couldn't stand to think about her brother any more than she had to, and hurting someone else was the only way she knew to stop herself from hurting so much. "I think I'd rather get hammered."

Janet had forgiven her, just as she always did, even when Rachel knew she didn't deserve to be forgiven. Now Syndicate 9 and their various friends and family members were huddled together in the centre of the pub around a table that was littered with silvery confetti, burnt matches (Kevin had struggled to light the birthday cake candles) and bottles that had once contained wine.

"Jan," Rachel yelled, although Janet was right next to her. She didn't know if she was shouting because she needed to make herself heard over the rowdiness of the pub or because she was hammered herself. "You got me a prezzie?"

"I have, as a matter of fact, Little Miss Presumptuous?"

"I'm not presup– pres–"

"Presumptuous," Janet supplied patiently.

"I'm not that. I'm just _asking_."

Janet raised her eyebrows and Rachel thought how very like Dorothy she looked when she did that. She dug around in a carrier bag under the table and presented Rachel with two parcels, one large square and one small.

"Open the big one first," Taisie called from the top of the table, where she appeared to be teaching Gill and Julie to make something out of napkins, "I helped Mum to make it."

Rachel started giggling when she couldn't undo the Sellotape, although she wasn't sure why it was funny. She was faintly aware of everyone's gazes settling on her, of someone saying something disparaging. On closer inspection she found that it was Andy. What the hell was he doing here anyway?

"Why's he here?"

"I thought it'd be nice to invite him," Janet said in a low, steady voice (she should have been a teacher, like her mother, it would have suited her), "So he could catch up with everyone. I did tell you a couple of weeks ago."

Rachel's hand slipped on the parcel and her wine glass flew off the table and shattered on the sticky floor.

"Always a dignified drunk," Andy muttered.

"Pass it here, Bailey."

She pushed the parcel across the table to Kevin. He dug his nails into the paper and, with a little bit of help from Lee, they finally managed to make a rip.

"She wrapped it when she just had an argument with Dad," Taisie told them.

"Thank you for sharing that, darling daughter."

Rachel was exposed to that word every day, it was on posters in the station ("Do you know what your daughter does on Friday nights?") and plastered all over shop windows and walls on the high street ("Buy a beautiful [insert expensive item] for a beautiful daughter this festive season"), and yet today hearing it was like having a dagger stuck into her chest. She thought suddenly that she was going to cry in front of them all, in front of all these people that she spent her entire life bullshitting to. She pretended she was invincible. _Pull yourself together, Bailey_; that was the sort of thing Kevin would say if he knew.

She was only emotional because she was drunk, she told herself, and she wanted to stay drunk. She tore the paper from the parcel to distract herself and found a Tupperware with a spoon taped to the lid; when she tipped it to one side she heard the unmistakeable slosh as jelly wobbled across the plastic.

"Oh Jan, you're amazing."

"Open the other one," Kevin said, leaning across excitedly.

Rachel thrust the jelly tub at him so that he could disentangle the spoon from the lid and opened the other parcel, which was a pair of delicate gold earrings with amber jewels set in them.

"I thought they would complement your eyes." Janet smiled as Rachel wrapped her arms around her. She was warm and snuggly; Rachel was tempted to press her head into Janet's chest and sleep for a couple of hours until she felt less dizzy. "You smell of booze."

"I'm gonna smell even more of booze in a minute," Rachel told her, reaching for Andy's wine glass and topping it up, then downing the whole thing in a couple of gulps.

"Well, this is very responsible when there's children present."

"I'm nearly an adult now, actually," Taisie protested. Rachel knew she'd never particularly warmed to Andy, probably because she had a daughter's (that word again) sixth sense about what might hurt her mother.

"And–" Rachel raised her hand to point at Gill's son but realised now that she couldn't remember his name, "And he– he– thingy is definitely an adult. Look at him, he's basically got a moustache."

Attention turned to the other end of the table, where Sammy was covertly sipping his mother's wine whilst she focused on whatever she and Julie were making from the napkins under Taisie's guidance.

"And then you just twist this bit here–"

Janet's head snapped sideways again to look between her boss and her daughter, "What are you making, Taisie?"

"We're making penises," Gill announced, leaning against Julie as she smirked, "Actually, is the plural of penis 'peni'? I can't remember."

"Oh, dear God," Andy groaned.

"At least you're not the only one who's completely ratted," Janet murmured in Rachel's ear as Kevin rushed around to crouch down beside Taisie, clutching an unused napkin, "Listen, you're alright, aren't you? I know it must be a bit– I don't know, a bit weird, a bit unsettling for you with Dom."

She might have to bullshit to everyone else in the office, but not to Janet; it was a complete and utter waste of time pretending.

"It is a bit."

"You know you can come round to my house whenever you want if you need to talk about anything, don't you? The girls love it. You manage to be a good influence on them despite your wild ways, Rachel Bailey."

"I might take you off on that offer."

"I think it's 'take you up'."

Lee shoved the Tupperware back across the table separate to the spoon, and Rachel tore off the lid and dug the spoon into the jelly. She grinned at how sweet it tasted as it brushed against her chapped lips.

"Might sober you up a bit."

"Think you should start a jelly shop." Rachel filled another spoon and pushed it into Janet's mouth. "I love you, Jan."

Around them, Andy brushed off his jacket and told nobody in particular he was calling it a night, whilst Gill, Julie and Kevin squealed about who had the biggest penis. Janet's mouth was full but she smiled like she was thinking 'I love you too'.

Rachel, thinking that at least she fitted in with her colleagues even if her family were tossers, felt a warm satisfaction. She knew it wouldn't last beyond her throbbing headache in the morning, but they had to live in the moment, didn't they? She poured some wine into the Tupperware and began to stir it into the jelly.

XxXxX

**Reviews are always appreciated, as are suggestions for future chapters if anyone would like anything in particular :')**


	3. Dave, for hopeyx

_**For hopeyx (for Monday)**_

_Don't get me wrong_, Gill thought as she puffed air into the limp pink balloon she was holding,_ I love work_. _But bloody hell, I don't love it this much._

For some reason she didn't think she would ever get her head around, someone from Top Brass had agreed for Dave to have his fiftieth birthday party at the station. Perhaps he'd threatened them. Perhaps he'd gone round to their house and begged them, with tears in his eyes, to forgive him for his past mistakes. It had worked on her, but then again she wasn't Top Brass, only a woman stupid enough to fall in love with a tosser.

"We don't need any more pink ones, Boss," Rachel called, "Do some yellow. We're going to do pink, yellow, pink, yellow round the room. What do you call that again?"

"A pattern?" Janet supplied.

"Rep- summat."

"Repetitive?"

"That's the one."

Gill let go of the half-filled balloon and it swarmed across the room, falling at Rachel's feet. It looked wet and wrinkly and stretched. Gill bit her lip. _Pull yourself together, kid, it's only a bit of cake with some colleagues and then you can go home and watch Coronation Street._ Who was she kidding? She hadn't watched Coronation Street since Fred had died; after that it had seriously gone downhill. Although even if she'd wanted to watch it she wouldn't have had the time, given that she'd barely found the chance to kiss her son goodnight for the last couple of decades.

She started blowing up a yellow one. Rachel was balanced precariously on the desk at the front of the briefing room, stringing a ribbon through a light fitting in order to tie the balloon to the ceiling. There were so many risks in what she was doing that Gill didn't even bother beginning to point them out.

Would serve her right if she electrocuted herself; it'd teach her a lesson (Gill had heard Rachel use the phrase 'learn her a lesson' a couple of weeks ago, she deserved to be strung up with the ribbon just for that) for being so cheerful about throwing a party for her boss's tosser of an ex. Repetitive patterns of balloons were pathetic, like something a four year old might request.

"The pastry stuff's due in a few minutes, the sausage rolls and the like," Andy announced from the doorway, consulting a checklist, "And Pete's gone to collect the cake. He's under strict orders to strap it into the back seat, so there'll be no disasters vis-à-vis the icing being ruined."

"Or the car," Gill said drily.

Originally, it had been agreed that they'd use the canteen for the 'work drinks', but for some reason that had been decided against. Department by department, the senior officers had given their excuses. Their briefing rooms were being cleaned up that night, or late-night meetings were taking place. Gill hadn't bothered to say no; she'd thought the fact that her husband had been at it with all and sundry behind her back might perhaps be enough to stop him from suggesting they use her briefing room for the party. But no, evidently it hadn't bothered him. He was probably bringing one of his girlfriends with him, or maybe even half a dozen of them. The sheer audacity of it, the idea that the tosser and his nasty little friends were going to get drunk in _her_ briefing room.

Lee leant against the doorframe, passing a ball of blu-tack between his hands, "Has someone got the donkey?"

"I'm sorry?" Gill muttered.

"The donkey poster. We're having a pin-the-tale-on-the-donkey thingy."

"Oh, are we now?"

Andy, balancing his clipboard on a pile of chairs so that he could carry them into Gill's office, which was gradually filling up with all kinds of office furniture, called out, "It's all been approved."

"To be fair, Gill should be able to veto decisions," Janet said quickly, "It is her briefing room, after all."

"And her ex-'usband," Rachel added.

Gill tied the air into the yellow balloon with such a tight knot that she was afraid it might snap off in her fingers, "I'm not interested in vetoing anything. As long as someone else clears up afterwards, I don't give a shit about anything that happens, quite frankly."

She went into her office but found that she couldn't slam the door because it was buried behind several filing cabinets which had been moved in to make room in the briefing room for the buffet tables. She turned her back on them to make it clear that she didn't want Janet fussing around, touching her shoulder and saying 'oh, this must be hard for you, Gill, I'm sorry, can I do anything?' She loved Janet, she loved them all (except Rachel, the traitor), she just couldn't be bothered with this.

She hugged the balloon to her chest. Sausage rolls and a cake for 'work drinks'? Who exactly was paying for this stuff? _Oh God, Gill, it really doesn't matter. Just go home if you're going to be like this. Watch bloody Corrie if you want to._

"Rachel, stop mucking a–"

Gill turned round in time for the rest of Janet's sentence to be muffled as she brought her hands up to her mouth. Rachel landed on the briefing room carpet with a heavy thud, the ladder toppling and hitting her squarely. It took Gill a moment to realise that the third loud sound was the balloon in her arms popping as she squeezed it to her chest in shock. The sticky yellow shreds fell to her feet.

In the moment after something happens, there is often a stillness. Even in a room full of police officers, people who dealt with horrendous things day after day, there was a stillness as they replayed their colleague tumbling in their minds before they began to rush towards her.

A man got there before all of them. He pulled the ladder off her and helped her to sit up; she leant against him, face white and eyes wide, but when Janet and Mitch reached her and took one arm each she stood up without stumbling.

"God, are you okay, Rach?" Janet held her friend to her chest, "You silly thing. I thought you'd been killed by a ladder for a moment."

"Mm," she sounded slightly shaken, "My arse hurts a bit."

"You're going to have a mighty bruise tomorrow," Andy said, with a trace of amusement. Lee snorted, and the whole office was filled with nervous laughter as the rest of them followed his lead.

"I've got the–" Pete stopped dead in the entrance to the briefing room with a huge box, "What the hell's going on here?"

Gill had stood watching them all from the doorway of her office without speaking a word. Now she turned back and leant against the filing cabinets, heart still thudding. There was a shred of yellow stuck to her shoe.

"Are you okay, Gill?"

"Thanks. For– you know," she said, stumbling over her words, cursing silently at how shaken she felt, "Rachel."

"Oh, that's okay. She's okay. Feeling it a bit, though, I think. Janet's gone down to the canteen to see if they've got some ice."

Gill bit her lip, "Daft cow."

"Thanks for– you know, letting me use your office. And for the food and everything. The cake looks really good."

"You can take a piece for your latest bit on the side, if you want."

Dave didn't reply. She could feel something like hurt mingled with frustration burning into her back. She could feel her shoulders quaking.

"Hey, Gill, are you–" he touched her shoulder, just as Janet always did, "Are you crying? What's wrong? Your DC's fine, I'm sure she's learnt her lesson."

That phrase made her cry a little harder. _Jesus, you really should have gone home and watched Corrie, this is embarrassing. _Her officers were chattering in the briefing room, welcoming members of various other teams into the room, piling pork pies and cheese straws onto paper plates. She wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"I think we both know it's me who should be sorry."

"No, Dave. Don't do this. I can't– it doesn't matter any more. It was a long time ago. You can do whatever you want with whoever you want now."

"I'm not–" he turned her round gently to face her. She knew her face would be blotchy and pitiful; it always was when she cried. He put his other arm around her and held her to him. "It's okay, it's okay."

She could smell warm alcohol on his breath. He had always been an emotional drunk, never violent but sometimes a bit vicious, sometimes tearful. Tonight his voice was steady and his eyes were gentle. _Don't._ She knew he was drunk, she knew she should just push him off and walk home and watch Coronation Street, but she stayed where she was and breathed in his warmth.

They stayed like that for a long time. She could feel Dave's stomach rumbling against hers. It seemed so intimate a feeling, far more intimate than they'd been in many, many years. She knew she should hate him and yet she wanted to stay like this forever. If he'd offered something in that moment, she would have said yes.

"I think we should go back in there," he said, separating himself from her gently, "Or you could stay here for a bit longer, if you want to."

You, not us. She'd known that was the case, it had to be the case, but– _oh God, Gill, you're worse than Rachel._ He had hurt her so badly, and she'd loved him so deeply. Even now, she loved him so deeply.

"You've got something yellow on your foot," Dave bent down to pick it off and grimaced when the wet rubber made contact with his fingers. He could have said so many things, and yet he said nothing other than, "You okay?"

"Yeah. Dave?" she said quietly, just as he turned away to go back to his 'work drinks'. He turned and his eyes were gentle and she loved him. "Happy birthday."


	4. Kevin, for GirlonaBridge

**I got about three-quarters of the way through writing a chapter where Rob spends his birthday sitting by his colleague's bed in intensive care, but then I thought it was too soon for there to be another injury-fest after the Rachel's little slip from the ladder. Variety is the spice of life and all that.**

**As I wrote this I enjoyed imagining bowling with the fangirls; I'm sure that would be hysterical. Please excuse my (potentially atrocious) maths.**

_**For Manda. I hope you have a wonderful birthday.**_

Rachel and Janet were rolling around on the floor laughing. Literally.

Kevin was beginning to wonder if someone had spiked Rachel's drink; she'd only taken a couple of sips from the plastic beaker of wine, and yet she was tipsy already. Talking too loudly, her eyes unfocused. Laughing when there wasn't even anything to laugh about. Then again, Janet was doing that too.

"It's not _that _funny," Gill was saying to Janet, but he could tell from the tone of her voice that she was trying hard not to laugh herself.

"Oh, it is."

"It's his birthday, bless 'im," Rachel muttered, slurring the 'th', scrambling up from the floor, "We should let 'im."

She waddled slightly as she approached him, her shoes several sizes too big. Maybe someone was planning on jeopardising her chances, what with this and the wine. She leant over, her perfume causing something to flutter in his stomach, and pressed the keys with less co-ordination than his four-year old nephew had shown on his first venture with a computer. Surprisingly good at Pinball, was Joshua.

"You've got a bit of–" Janet broke off to continue giggling, as though tipsiness was contagious, running through the air conditioning vents and infecting all women, "You've got some chud stuck to your pants, Rach."

Janet and Gill, with much hilarity, scraped at Rachel's taut bum with their nails, only succeeding in smearing the chewing gum further. At least before it had looked like chewing gum; now, he didn't want to think about the connotations. Forcing himself to look away, he focused instead on the screen hanging above them.

BOSS

JANET

RACHEL

KEVIN

Next to Kevin, there was a little tick in the box titled BUMPERS. Who knew such a small symbol could cause such consternation? If he wanted to have the bumpers up, he jolly well would have the bumpers up. It was his birthday, for pity's sake.

He sat down on the bench and put his head in his hands, disbelieving at himself. He was a product of Gill's iron fist. It was alright for her to swear, but if anyone else dared to utter anything darker than 'crap' they were in for it. _Jolly. For pity's sake. _Who said these things outside of Jane Austen novels? (He didn't really know if Austen characters had said 'jolly' and 'for pity's sake' – the most classicy book he'd ever read was Tom's Midnight Garden, which they'd studied in the first year of secondary school – but presuming this made him feel intelligent.)

Rachel and Janet had now scurried to spread the news of Kevin's tick in the BUMPERS box to the rest of the boys. He still wasn't sure how he'd ended up separated from them, when it was his birthday. In the lane to the left, away from the women who'd caught the dreaded laughing disease, the game was already underway.

ROB: 5 - (5)

MITCH: 4, 2 (6)

LEE: 7 - (7)

PETE

None of them were using the bumpers. All of them were giggling, aside from Pete, who was currently lining himself up with the black and yellow striped tape in order to aim for the precise centre of the bowling pins.

"Right, then," Gill said, setting down her empty beaker, "Wish me luck."

He had never wished her luck in her life. He'd thought it would be an insult to her intelligence, quite frankly, to suggest that luck had anything to do with it. A press conference appealing for witnesses to a triple murder: _"Remember to mention his birth mark, Ma'am. Oh, and good luck."_ Right.

She got a seven, and then a one, and strutted back towards him. He couldn't have imagined her looking more proud if she'd just solved that triple murder.

Janet, after lifting up every single ball in the rack and considering it as though a whole village's existence depended on her making the right decision, a 10 or a 12, bowled remarkably well, Kevin thought. She knocked down nine on the first bowl, and caught the final one with a twist of her wrist on the follow-up. The screen momentarily changed to show a whimsical image of a dancing clown as the word SPARE flashed in front of them for all to see.

It was Kevin's turn to giggle (if giggle wasn't too feminine a word) when Rachel stepped up to the line and lost her first ball in the gutter before it got anywhere near the pins. "Wishing you'd put a tick in that box, Rach?"

She knocked down three with her second bowl, shrugged and went back to her wine. Kevin, appalled at himself for feeling nervous, chose a size 12 (which was apparently a women's ball; Rob had a 14, Mitch and Lee 16s and Pete an 18, but it was his birthday, so to hell with them all) and bowled it quickly before he could get any more worked up. Had they spiked his drink too? It was probably Gill, determined to beat them all.

It rolled sideways when he let go of it, ricocheting off the bumpers with extraordinary strength, considering he'd done little more than drop the ball into the aisle. It hit the left bumper first, then the right, and then the left again, like it was attempting to annihilate a mile of dominoes but kept missing. He could hear the laughter building up in his colleagues' throats all over again.

The ball, in a final spurt as it reached the pins, bounced from the bumper and straight into the centre of the pins. The middle two fell, knocking the next two, one either side. In slow motion, a blur of red and white, all ten pins tumbled.

Janet and Rachel laughed, but this time it was incredulous laughter.

"Kiss my arse," Kevin squealed at nobody in particular, and then spun round guiltily to face Gill, "Sorry, Ma'am. My bottom."

"Or you could kiss Rachel's," Janet suggested, "It's minty."

XxXxX

Pete won in the lane to the left, although that was hardly surprising, given that he took about five minutes lining up, swinging his arms around like a faux professional, before he rolled each ball. Still high on his victory, he scampered off with Mitch to play with the penny slot machines. Lee and Rob came to watch the end of the girls' match, which was naturally being dominated by Kevin.

Well, he was nearly dominating.

Rachel – who'd wandered off to get some more wine about ten minutes ago, and hadn't bothered to return; Lee was now taking her turns – was on 62, and Gill 73. Kevin, having just taken his ninth turn, was on 96. Janet was on 102.

Gill bowled a four, followed by a three, and ended up with 80. She seemed perfectly satisfied with this, and disappeared to see if Pete had won anything on the slot machines. ("I could do with a new key ring.")

Janet bowled an eight and then a two, meaning that she got another bowl. She got a six, and sat down on the bench between Lee and Rob, rubbing her hands together. Was it glee, or the grittiness of every surface?

118. He needed 24.

Lee got Rachel a respectable eight overall, leaving her with 70.

All of this maths was making his head hurt, but he battled on. Stretched out his arms further. (On the theme of classics, one of his school friends had been an English geek, regularly churning out quotes for him to wrinkle his nose at. The Great Gatsby, that one. Something about a green light. Kevin hadn't ever pretended to understand; he wasn't even sure why he remembered it now.)

Twenty four. He needed twenty four.

He bowled his size 12, and it ricocheted off the bumpers once, twice, thrice, and burst straight through the wall of pins. Another strike. He had the butterflies in his stomach again, this time unrelated to Rachel's sweet-smelling neck.

"Go on, Kevin," Rob called. An unexpected display of solidarity from the sarge. It almost made him feel fizzy inside. _For pity's sake._

It doubled when you got a strike, didn't it? He wrinkled his nose as he tried to add it up. 96 and 10, 106. He needed 12 overall, to get to 118. 12 divided by two was six. All he needed was a six. _Come on._

He bowled his size 12, and it ricocheted off the bumpers once, twice, thrice, and burst straight through the wall of pins.

They cascaded to either side like curtains being drawn backwards at the beginning of a play. Two fell, then another four, then two more. The two stragglers danced on the platform, mocking him, before one of them fell into the other and he was left once more with an empty stage. Another strike. Another bloody strike.

He was given one final bowl, and got a four. Couldn't have everything. 14 doubled was 28. 106 plus 28 was 134.

_Kiss my arse, Scotty._ _And then I'll kiss Bailey's._

"Good game," Kevin said, holding out his hand to shake Janet's. She responded to his gracious gesture by flicking two fingers. He grinned.

"Well, thank God that's over," Gill re-materialised, dragging a still-stumbling Rachel along behind her, "Can we go and get some burgers now?"

"Think you should pay, Kev. It is your birthday, after all."

All seven of his colleagues looked at him expectantly. He wanted to tell them to get stuffed, but he could be gracious about this too. The whole package would only cost him a twenty from McDonalds if he could convince them to share chips and drinks. And glancing back at the screen above them–

The whimsical clown was back again. KEVIN IS THE WINNER.

Weren't laughing at his bumpers now, were they?

XxXxX


	5. Rob, for Sazzyxx

**I never particularly warmed to Rob in series three, probably because I always had a soft spot for Andy, but I thought I'd write this anyway because Rob/Gill isn't a dynamic that's been explored very much in **_**Scott&Bailey**_**. Sorry if there are any discrepancies between Rob here and Rob in the programme; I don't think we've ever learnt anything about his personal life, but it's a long time since I last had the chance to watch it.**

**Again, if anyone has any suggestions for later chapters – or any requests for their own chapter – please let me know.**

**For Sarah (**_**Sazzy.x.x**_**) for tomorrow**

Rob was trawling through emails when his phone, laid parallel to the computer mouse, vibrated. He hadn't bothered to reach out for the light switch when he'd come in earlier, and so as dusk had gradually settled, as night had drawn in, Gill's office had become darker and darker without him really noting the change. The light the phone screen gave off now made him wince and recall the night times of his childhood. _Like a rabbit in the headlights. _His brother coming in at one, two o'clock in the morning, waving his torch with trembling fingers in Rob's eyes until Rob shuffled up the bed and allowed him to climb in.

The phone screen was illuminated with the word 'Janet' in heavy block capitals, with a photograph of her sticking her tongue out underneath. A few weeks ago, he'd asked Rachel to install some anti-virus software on his phone, and she'd evidently mucked around on it because he kept coming across all kinds of things that hadn't previously been there; photographs of all of his colleagues came up whenever they rang him, and there were little icons on his home screen which took him to a Russian dictionary and a game called Angry Birds. He didn't know how to get rid of any of it. More fool him.

She was full of some not very nice things, Rachel. Everyone else seemed to disregard it when she did something wrong; yesterday she'd put salt instead of sugar in Mitch's tea and he'd only laughed and said it served him right for having such a bad habit. Her questionable interviewing technique, the downright inappropriate things she said to the families of victims. And that email she'd sent. He knew she was bright but surely brightness only got you to a certain point? If it was anyone else, she would have been off the team a long time ago, but Gill had always had a soft spot for Rachel.

He reached for the phone so quickly that he knocked it off the desk, and when he reached down for it he knocked the computer mouse too. The wire, tangled around the pencil pot on the desk, swung for a moment off the edge of the desk before pulling a photograph frame down with it too.

It wasn't until he'd retrieved the phone from the carpet and answered it that he realised the glass from the frame had shattered all over his hand. It was too dark to see very much but he could feel stickiness on his skin, a crawling pain.

"What's happening?" he snapped, cradling his hand on his lap, feeling shards of glass embed themselves deeper. _Not your brightest idea._

"Glad you're glad to hear from me," Janet said, but she kept the banter brief. It sounded almost as though her voice was hollow, which he knew was a stupid thing to think because it wasn't like a voice was a tube which someone could dig a knife into and tear away the flesh, but that was how it sounded. "There's no change."

"Shit, shit," he was muttering as he stood up and fumbled around for the light switch with his bloodied hand, clutching Janet's hollow voice to the other ear, "Imbecile."

"You might want to save your insults until–"

"Not her." Another firework in the face as the electric strip lights illuminated the whole room. Shards of glass everywhere, blood running down his wrist.

"Are you alright, Rob?"

"I've just– just cut myself a bit," he said, "Just a bit of glass. Smashed on my hand."

"How did that happen? How bad is it?"

How could something be both hollow and filled with emotion at the same time? She sounded exhausted and panicky. She'd probably been crying for the last couple of hours, whilst he'd fannied around with emails. Waiting for her to call because he couldn't pluck up the courage to ring her himself. _Imbecile._

"It's fine, it's fine."

He held his arm up above his head and the blood coiled around his wrist and down his arm. He stretched out his tongue to lick it before it could stain his shirt sleeve, bunched up around his elbows. The taste of blood made him feel sick, had made him feel sick ever since he was a little boy.

The way it had seeped through the edges of the duvet, the way his mother had wailed as she'd knelt in the blood.

"Are you still in work?"

"Yes. Didn't think I'd be able to sleep. You know." He didn't even need to make it into a question. He knew she knew.

"I'm going to get Rachel home now. She's in a bit of a state, she was in work at five this morning and obviously it's been a–" The tell-tale crackle, the sharp intake of breath which spoke of a desperate attempt at composure. "A hard day for her. I think you should be getting home now too. Do you want me to come and pick you up on the way past to save you waiting for a bus at this time?"

"I'll be alright. But thanks."

How cold the room had suddenly become, despite the warmth blasting out of the radiator which ran alongside his bed. How hollow it had seemed.

"Shit," he muttered, and then, "You still there, Janet?"

"Mm-hm."

"Would you mind? Getting me, I mean. If it's not too much trouble. Not to take me home or– well, only if you think it's–"

"You want to come and see her?" Her voice was warm and generous, like she wanted nothing more. "I think it's a lovely idea. And I would appreciate having someone else here with me for a little while. I mean, it's–"

He dug his teeth into his wrist to dislodge the pain in his hand, saying nothing, wondering if she'd been cut off.

"She's so still."

"I know," he said, "I know she is."

His brother had been so still.

Two forty-two when he was woken by the scream. He remembered the sweat prickling on his skin, he remembered hurtling upwards and squinting at his bedside clock. Two forty-two. It wasn't the scream that frightened him the most, it was the emptiness of the bed beside him.

His brother lying in the doorway, eyes bright with surprise, blood running down his face. Torch still clasped in those podgy fingers.

XxXxX

"He lived. Of course he lived. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if he'd– those first couple of nights, they were a living hell. He was in intensive care and my parents were practically living next to his bed. I had to stay at home; my granny moved in to care for me until– I couldn't even look down when I went into my room because the carpet was stained with–"

He was looking at Gill as he said all of this, but he was talking to Janet. She sat beside him, looking at Gill too, nodding slightly from time to time as he started and stopped, formed thoughts in his mind and then pushed them to the side because he couldn't bear to put it into words, even three decades on.

"Adrian said Taisie was the same. When it was touch-and-go, for those first couple of days. The floor was clean, but she couldn't even walk through the hallway without crying because she knew what had happened there."

"It's a terrible thing. The waiting."

Her eyes flicked from her hands, clasped on her knees, to Gill's rising and falling chest, as though she needed constant reassurance that the woman was still breathing, and yet she couldn't quite bring herself to remain looking for any length of time. Neither could Rob. The blood on her face, like the blood on his wrist, reminded him of his mother's wails and the corners of the duvet and the torch.

"I think that's what's hurting Rach the most. I mean, this is between you and me."

"Of course."

"She saw what she saw, and that was bad enough," Janet gulped, "But to be waiting. To not be able to speak to her. She's tough, but she's not indestructible. You know."

Rob nodded, closed his eyes for a second. He knew.

Gill had always had a soft spot for Rachel, and Rachel had always had a soft spot for Gill. To watch as someone had dug a knife into Gill's stomach, to know that, however fast she ran towards them, she couldn't get there, she couldn't stop Gill from crumbling into the puddles on the tarmac. Rachel might have annoyed him, she might have been filled with bad things, but he wouldn't wish that on a mass murderer, to see someone they loved splattered in their own blood. To stand there, wincing in the light.

"Are you two talking about me?"

"Gill," Janet said softly, reaching to take her hand, "We're talking about Rachel. But we have been talking about you."

"All good things, I hope."

Her eyes flicked from Janet to Rob. They were speckled with all different shades of chocolate in the white gleam of the strip lights above her. He wanted to take her hand too, take both of their hands, hers and Janet's, and sandwich them in his.

"Sammy's flying home first thing tomorrow." Sammy had been with Orla on a romantic holiday in Italy. "I've talked to Julie as well. She's tied up in a conference in London this weekend, she can't get away, but she's been texting me every half an hour asking after you. She asked me to get you to–" That tell-tale quiver again. "I said you'd ring when you were feeling up to it."

"You shouldn't have. Sammy's been saving up for–" she'd been trying to shuffle further up the bed and prop herself up on her elbows, but now she groaned and aborted the mission, "It's not fair on Orla."

"He wanted to be here. Orla too. You're more important than wandering around some old streets and getting a bit of a suntan."

"Well, that's a relief," she murmured, "Rachel. She's okay?"

"A bit shaken, but–" The whole conversation was punctured with pauses and deep breaths, "I'm going to go and ring her, actually. Her and Julie."

Janet dropped Gill's hand pushed back her chair, fumbling with her phone before she was even out of the door. Rob didn't know where to look. At the ivory white bed sheets pulled pitifully high up her neck, at the deep scratches criss-crossing her cheek. At the lights illuminating everything. _Like a rabbit._

"What time is it?" Gill asked eventually.

He knew before he looked that the early hours of the morning must have been stretching out by now, but he wasn't prepared for the time to dig so deep into his chest, like he was being stabbed as she had been.

"It's nearly quarter to three."

"Your birthday, then."

"Yes," he said. He almost laughed because she'd remembered, when he hadn't even known she'd known, and he'd forgotten. Thirty five today. Felt like a milestone, somehow.

"Happy birthday. Sorry about–"

"Don't mention it, Gill."

He always went to see his brother on his birthday. Every single year he'd travelled to whichever care home Thomas was in at the time, at first with his parents and then on his own. His brother couldn't speak, didn't understand the concept of a birthday, but he recognised family. Every year Rob took a slice of cake wrapped in a napkin with him on the train or tucked up in a bag in the passenger seat, and every year he was rewarded with a beautiful bright smile as he fed it to his brother from a plastic fork.

It was two forty-one. He sat gazing at the dial on his watch for what could have been seconds or minutes; he didn't see the hand move, but he knew it had. Two forty-two. The cold of the empty mattress. His brother had a smile that lit up like a torch was being shone through it. It had always been like that, a smile of pure ecstasy, before and after.

"I'm so glad you're going to be okay."

As if Gill understood, she stretched out her arm and touched his knee, "I'm tough as old boots. You should go home to your family."

He'd go to the shops, get a birthday cake (perhaps Thomas the Tank Engine; he remembered that going down a storm a couple of years ago), and then at a more respectable hour he'd drive down to the home and see Tom. There would be no blood on the bed clothes, no wails from a mother losing someone that had once been a part of her. Just the smile full of light.

"I think I might."

XxXxX

**This chapter is a little bit influenced by **_**The Shock of the Fall**_**, which is a novel I read a little while ago; the sibling relationship running through it is really intricate and sensitive. It wasn't intentional but I realised as I went along that I'd sort of borrowed ideas from that for Rob's family life, and I thought I'd just point it out in case anyone was interested in reading recommendations. So there you go.**


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